


stockholm syndrome

by zamboob



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: A little angst, M/M, and a sexually confused barry allen, featuring shady harrison wells, just a teeny tiny one-shot, not too westallen friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7577848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zamboob/pseuds/zamboob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry Allen, the Flash, is heartbroken; not that Harrison is surprised. But when Barry seeks him out for consolation, he can't help but feel trapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stockholm syndrome

   For Harrison Wells, leading a string of lies is as simple as breathing. 

  Nobody knows that, of course, despite the times he's tempted to swank it about when his intelligence isn't enough to impress his colleagues.  
   
  Sometimes it'll be as straightforward as, "I must've forgotten to order your fries, Cisco," while he's doing away with potato crumbs on his lip, or, "No, detective, I would _never_ say you look like you're straight out of an episode from _Law and Order_ ," with a small chuckle playing at his lips. These are the harmless, mild little teases Harrison throws every now and again, whenever he has the energy.  
   
  Other lies, however - the more dour type - these prove much easier for him as they mold this alien body of his and slowly bleed into his very essence. The best part about it is that Harrison had become immune to petty things like rue and regret. Nothing can touch him, can unearth that rusty layer deep inside of him and flourish it under his nose. Now, spending his days sitting in Star Labs and stopping metahumans alongside his mortal enemy, this effigy of skin feels almost impregnable.

 The only lies he _can't_ pull off are the ones he tells himself.

 This is the rare exception, the 1% of him he will never wipe out no matter how hard he scrubs. There's a feeling that swells in his chest when Harrison's reminded of this, unfurling a raging heat that pumps itself relentlessly into his bloodstream. It's a habitual thing - his hatred for himself - but it's as addictive as a drug.  
   
  Though a different feeling rises when Barry comes to him after Iris tears his heart in two (for the umpteenth time, he notes as he recalls watching the two's incident from the Time Vault). It's beyond words, empty and intangible. More than anything, he loathes this sense of helplessness, starved of knowledge and robbed of the firm hold he has on reality.  
     
  He pushes the thick frame of his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, a habit he's picked up during his time as Harrison Wells, before considering Barry.  
   
  He's shifting awkwardly in his seat, trying to adjust his tall, stick-like figure to the unnaturally small height of the armchair in the breakroom. His knees jab upwards to the ceiling to accommodate for his long set of legs and they buckle together clumsily, like a newborn fawn. He can't deny that looking down at Barry for a change was illuminating, the same for Barry looking up at _him_. Harrison would chuckle at the sight if it was any situation other than this.  
   
  The concept as a whole still confuses him.  
   
  It's only been a month since Barry woke up from his coma. He wouldn't imagine gaining an _ounce_ of his trust that quickly, not after what he's done to Central City.

  _Joe must be overflowed with work, that'd explain why the forensic came to him instead of his adopted father._

  This isn't the case.  
     
  "Joe caught this terrible cold, so he's been at home all day with - well, _Iris_ ," Barry explains, jaw stiffening at the mention of his childhood dream. His eyes dart away hastily and decide to trace the contours of the floor tiles instead. Harrison catches sight of the bright sky-colored hues tucked under his eyelids, surprised by how different they look from the camera feed. Had he really studied them, Harrison would find the boy whose same eyes flashed in terror as the life of his mother was taken by his hand.  
   
  But his mind continues to wander.

  _If Barry came to him, the social pariah, his predicament couldn't be serious._

  "It's serious, Dr. Wells," the forensic begins solemnly, pleading eyes finding Harrison's above him, "When I told Iris what I felt for her, she was.. Hurt, I guess? She refuses to talk to me, to even look at me. I don't know what to do. I loved her for so _long_.."  
   
  Not that he didn't already know that.   
   
  After fifteen years of constant surveillance, Harrison is, no doubt, well-versed in every aspect of Barry Allen: his day-to-day activities, his usual brand of cereal, the childhood collection of rocks he keeps under his bed, the page in Harrison's biography he likes the most, his own guilty pleasures (some more interesting than others), and, mainly, his romantic tendencies.  
   
  Barry has no set sexuality. To him, there is no left or right as long as Iris West is in the picture. A few strings pulled, and Eddie Thawne was in Central City and Iris taken _out_ of the picture. Even so, with the approaching future looming over them, Barry West-Allen is an immortal entity.  
   
  Seeing the speedster wail about Iris, even while the future is steeled, makes his hackles rise.  
   
  Barry's slender fingers card through his shock of hair, its past brilliance paling from neglect and stress. Random tufts stick up in opposite directions as if they're repelled by each another. Each dying strand is a disgrace to the forensic's normal model-like look.

  _He must be wanting a small pep talk, then, just something to cheer him up and bring him back to shape._

  Harrison watches as Barry chews at the unsteady, purpling bud that is his lower lip, tears traveling down those beautifully rosy cheeks like morning dew. It's a wonder seeing the scarlet speedster so innocent and _vulnerable_ , red as the centuries-old stains of blood coloring Barry's suit and the ancient hatred boiling beneath.  
   
  The bud begins to stutter erratically as if a strong breeze is passing. He tries to find the right words before he loses track of them completely.  
   
  "I- I can't handle this. Please, just- stay with me?"

  _No, Harrison does not want to reach out from his chair and take him in his arms, to keep him there, safe. He does not want to believe this Barry Allen was any different from another._

  The impostor resides to bringing his hands together and seating them on his lap, a sinner in prayer. He rubs his thumbs together to keep them busy. His teeth run across his lower lip, biting down a newfound urge threatening to take hold of him.

_Harrison wouldn't press kisses at his temple. No, he wouldn't take both of his hands into his own, to still trembling fingers and smooth his thumb over the jackrabbit pulse beating softly at his wrist. He was sure of it. The hollow, pallid curve of his cheek wasn't begging to be caressed, the wet stream dirtying his face not to be wiped away by his touch.._

Harrison knows better.

_There's still the familiar hunger lying dormant in the back of his mind, ready to spring back to life at any moment. What he wouldn't give to take the Flash's heart away. He'd keep it in the palm of his hand, holding ultimate control over each pump of blood, each rush of life. And at his other hand, the boy's throat would be ensnared in the tight clutches of his fingers. A twist of Harrison's knuckle, and his neck would shatter at lightning speed. Nothing would please him more than the satisfaction of having the Flash, his mortal enemy, wilting under his presence -_

  Harrison stops himself as the dull hum of the ventilators chastise him for letting the silence run too long. He bites sharply at the inside of his cheek, partially to snap out of his reverie but also to keep the chain of curses running in his head instead of out of his mouth.

  Barry had asked him a question.

_"I'll always be here for you, Barry. You can at least count on that."_

  Harrison's brow furrows worriedly. He wasn't completely sure if he had said that to the man in front of him or to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i finally wrote a fanfiction without it randomly disappearing (i had to rewrite barrison fics for over a year it was not fun)  
> forgive me if its sucky pls give me tips  
> if you like it thank you that was the point this ship needs more fics


End file.
